


Spectral Warmth

by jadebloods



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, Earthborn (Mass Effect), F/F, Holding Hands, Past Character Death, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Unresolved Sexual Tension, bicurious drunks, friends accidentally turning each other on, marines with martyr complexes, pre-Virmire, shepard's asari fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2207034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadebloods/pseuds/jadebloods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on shore leave just before Virmire, Ashley and Shepard share a bottle of New Louisville "Kentucky" bourbon on the Presidium and discuss love triangles, the intricacies of interspecies sex, the burden of of fate and the inevitability of death, and the bone-deep desire to smash skulls. There are no kakliosaurs in the Alliance navy, and nobody smooches anybody. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectral Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> I promised myself that if I was going to let Ashley Williams die, I had to at least write a fic about her.
> 
> Indulge me a little bit with the second-person POV. I didn't intend to write it that way, but that's how it wanted to come out. I guess Homestuck has spoiled me for behaving properly in other fandoms, but I promise I will only do it in fics from Shepard's POV.

By the time you make it up the stairs and settle down on a bench in a quiet corner of the mezzanine, the artificial glow in the Presidium sky has already deepened to a dark, moody orange that reflects almost purple on the reservoir below. It brings to mind the several thousand sunsets you had managed to catch back in Chicago; they'd all had that same warmth behind the city towers, which had cooled to a cheerful rippling lavender on Lake Michigan.

This particular sunset is a facsimile, an arbitrary spectral shift and darkening of the ambient light for the benefit of the Citadel species whose physiology requires a circadian rhythm. You may be a member of one such species, but to you, this sunset means it's the right time to crack open the bottle of whiskey you've got tucked against your side and digging into your ribs under your jacket.

There are rules against using soporifics on the Presidium level, outside of private quarters or specifically designated and demarcated lounges, but there's also no sunset down in the wards, so fuck it. You only have about six hours in which to kill this bottle before the sun turns back on, and you'd prefer to spend at least the last two of them asleep in the room you've rented down below for the duration of your 48 hour leave.

A quick glance around at the neighboring benches and walkways tells you that you're fairly alone, minus a few people walking with purpose toward the elevators to the wards and the tower, so you slip your hand into your jacket and twist off the cap. There's a palpable novelty to having to screw off the cap of this conspicuously Earth-style bottle here on the Citadel, where drinking tubes are the interspecies standard for beverage delivery. It adds to the illusion of home, so you hold on to it, turning the cap over and over in the palm of one hand while you bring the mouth of the bottle to your lips with the other, taking a swig of the dark liquid that sets your mouth alight with a familiar warmth and tingle.

The rare feeling of being completely alone in a wide open space, away from anyone who might desire your attention or need you to make a decision, is relaxing. The sound of water lapping against the base of the Relay monument in the distance, instead of the endless drone of air circulators, is nice too. The subtle glow of canned starlight, as opposed to the sharp edge of neon bulbs, is downright soothing. The slow burn of grain alcohol dulling your senses until it all blurs slightly at the edges... well, that's just killer. You could sit here all night, reveling in the gentle hedonism of these sensations that cannot be found anywhere on the SSV Normandy SR1.

As it turns out, you won't get all night. You only get about 20 minutes of peace before you hear footsteps approaching behind you, which isn't even enough time to make an appreciable dent in the bottle. You pull a deep but silent breath, steeling yourself for a conversation, or at least a regulations violation notice.

"Isn't there a rule against open bottles out here in the bush, Commander?" Ashley asks as she appears from the thick of the greenery, putting her hands on her knees and sinking onto the bench next to you. She has on civvies--jeans and some kind of halter top--probably on her way down to one of the bars to piss away her leave. You've known a lot of marines in your life, most of them work-hard-play-hard types who would always come back from shore leave dehydrated and with back scratches or a black eye or both, the men and women alike. Hell, you used to be one of them, so it's hard not to project that bias onto her. Then again, you don't know too many marines who can quote Tennyson by heart.

You also don't have a lot of room to talk, since you're the one currently resting a whole bottle of New Louisville 'Kentucky' bourbon on your thigh. "Ain't a bottle. It's an oversize hip flask."

"That kind of night, huh?" She leans back, resting her elbows on the back of the bench as she rolls her thighs open and closed, open and closed, knocking her knees together absently and bumping her elbow against your shoulder with the sway of it. Instead of looking at you, she follows your gaze out to the water and the Relay monument in the distance. "Well, I won't tell if you won't."

"You're smart, Williams. That'll get you a free drink." You pass the bottle to your left, and she takes it with her right hand, bringing it to her mouth immediately.

"Whoa," she says, pulling a grimace and looking at the label. "Now I know why this needs scare quotes." You reach out like you're going to take it back, but she pulls it away, back up to her lips. "Didn't say I wasn't gonna help you drink it. So, you hiding from the nerd squad?"

You have an idea of who she means, but you ask anyway, for deniable plausibility reasons. "Who?"

"Alenko and T'Soni," she deadpans, finally handing the bottle back to you. "Ugh, get this away from me." She wipes her hands against her thighs, as if trying to scrape the burn of bad liquor shame off onto her jeans.

You take the bottle and rest it on the bench between your legs, holding it in place with your hand on the neck. The rim is still slightly wet from her mouth, and you take the time to rub your thumb around it in a slow circle before speaking. "It's a delicate situation."

"Yeah, no shit." She sounds impressed. "I mean, as problems go, it's a pretty good one to have. But still, you seem to attract a type, don't you?" She turns toward you, and you glance over from the side of your eye, keeping your face pointed at the water. Her skin reflects the deep orange glow of the sky, shining pink in the center of her forehead and in the hollow of her throat, above the top of her halter. Shining like that silly Phoenix armor she had on the day you met her. "What's the deal with that, anyway. Am I too butch for you? Too human?"

"Too straight," you deflect, and she muffles a snort. "And paradoxically, too out of line."

"Touché, skipper. Can I speak freely?"

"You mean you haven't been?" You pick up the bottle for another drink, mostly as an excuse to stuff something in your mouth and observe instead of talk. Ashley's enthusiasm for talking to you has always been difficult for you to parse and label, and this conversation is proving no different.

"I think T'Soni is your guy. Girl. Alien, whatever. For what it's worth, she gets my vote."

That's not at all what you expected her to say, and you're startled into setting the bottle back down in your lap. "For argument's sake, we'll pretend I asked for your opinion and that you're at all qualified to even give one on this subject. Why do you say that?"

Ashley shrugs and leans forward, resting her elbows and forearms on her knees. She squints out into the still-darkening park, the glow turning more purple than orange every time you look at the water. "For one thing, she seems more your type. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you keep encouraging the parade of blue alien babes chomping at the bit to get into your, uh--" She lingers on her word choice, glancing pointedly over at your lap before quickly flicking her eyes up to your face. "--brain." She smiles up at you and finishes _sotto voce_ , "That's how they _do it_ , you know."

"Be careful, chief." Thankfully your voice has a natural undertone of 'don't fuck with me', something gravelly in your lower register that you come by honestly, so you don't have to work hard to inject it with a subtle warning. The truth is, you're a little taken aback by the thought of her cataloging your, uh, encounters. Your face feels number than warranted by the alcohol, so you force yourself to breathe steadily.

"No, look, no shade. Not from me, anyway. It's just that you seem to be pretty into it, and I guess I can't blame you. I mean, in some ways human guys are... _amazing_ , really, wow." She gives her head a little shake, as if trying to dislodge the ghost of sexual encounters past. "But I've also only met like three of them who could find the you-know-what all on their own, much less touch my _mind_ , you see what I'm saying?"

"It's intense," you admit, aware of how breathy your voice sounds. It feels too intimate, but Ashley doesn't flinch. Maybe she doesn't notice.

"Mmm," she hums absently, propping her chin in one hand and reaching out into your lap with the other. Your stomach has plenty of time to lurch before you realize that she's grabbing for the bottle. "Can I?" You part your legs slightly so she can slide the bottle out from between your thighs and take a drink while looking at the water, avoiding your gaze. Okay, maybe she did notice it. Or maybe she just fucking likes sunsets, who knows.

In the silence that follows, you realize how much the gardens have cleared out. The only other people you can make out are very far down the concourse, sitting at a dim table just inside one of the lounges. The darkness and quiet had descended on the two of you unnaturally quickly, but that was entirely because it wasn't natural at all. None of this was natural, except maybe for the way you currently felt like you were navigating an interpersonal minefield. That felt natural as hell.

"What's it like?" she asks casually, her voice cracking a bit on the vowels, vocal fry or maybe just soreness from the rough liquor.

She's still not looking at you, and that makes it easier to answer. "Kinda like opening a valve on a steam vent. There's this intense, pressurized burst of..." You grasp for words, remembering the disturbing red visions. The stress of reliving them makes you clench your teeth, makes you wish you had something to wrap your fingers around and squeeze to pull yourself out of it. A bottle neck. A throat. A dick. Something. You swallow, forcing it all down. "Images. Thoughts... Visions, I dunno. With Shiala I was the vent. With Liara I was the valve."

"Hot," Ashley appraises, chuckling around the mouth of the bottle before handing it back to you again. "That's not what I meant, though. What about the Consort? Sha'whatever."

" _Sha'ira_ ," you say before you can catch yourself, cramming the bottle in your mouth again even though you aren't really ready for another drink. It stings as bad as ever, but you think you're going to need it if she insists on pressing the topic. "What do you mean, Williams?"

"Oh please," she says, sitting up straight again and turning slightly toward you, folding one leg under the other. "Don't forget that I was standing guard with Darth Lavender right outside the door while you were..." She trails off, waving her hand over in the air. "I have good ears, skipper."

Again, you find yourself dismantled by the idea that she's keeping track. "That's a personal question," you say carefully, unsure if you mean it as an admonishment or simply an acknowledgment of what's happening here. She doesn't say anything, just presses her lips together and rests her face in her hand again, this time supporting her elbow on the back of the bench. Her whole body is facing you, revealing the magnitude of her interest, which she tries to hide by turning her face away.

She's probably just curious, so you surprise yourself by telling her the truth. "With Sha'ira it was like being in an echo chamber. It wasn't a memory... I could see exactly what she was seeing, feel what she was feeling. There was a direct link there, not a one-way pipe."

"That sounds terrifying," Ashley admits, her voice unusually small.

"It was, in a way. That thing they say about embracing eternity? It ain't a bunch of schlock, they really mean it. It's like a funhouse mirror room, where the reflections start to multiply until all you can see is just redundant copies of yourself all the way down to infinity." You look up at Ashley's eyes to find that she's staring at you, entranced. If you moved just a little bit closer, you might even be able to see yourself reflected in her large, black pupils. "When we looked at each other, I didn't just see her eyes. I saw mine too. I saw her eyes seeing mine, and I saw her seeing me see hers seeing mine. And it was just... that... all the way down. It echoed."

"Okay, fine, it sounds terrifying _and_ existential." The content of her words belies the fragility with which she says them.

"Sure, it was. Guess I wasn't thinking too much about it at the time, because _everything_ got amplified like that. Every sensation got cranked up to infinity."

" _Every_ sensation," she parrots automatically, squeezing her thighs together almost imperceptibly.

She's still looking at you, too rapt to feign casual interest, and you're too unsettled by the novelty of her interest to stop talking. "It got to a point where I didn't know which feelings were mine and which were hers, if I was touching her or she was touching me. Everything just blended in my mind until it was this... cacophony of..." Your breath has gotten away from you, making you stumble over your words because the memory of that singular experience still lights you up like a fucking Christmas tree and makes you speak uncharacteristically fast. You clear your throat, unsure of what to say next.

The funny thing is, her chest is rising and falling to keep time with yours. Maybe it's the casual setting and the civilian clothes that let you go so far off track, but you can't keep talking this way with her. It's too personal, too much, and you need to diffuse the mood before it derails completely. If only you'd had the foresight to leave yourself an out, but you've never been good at that. Predicting other people's needs is Kaidan's specialty, not yours.

You raise your hands and shrug it off, forcing a smile and taking another drink before speaking again. "But, you know. That's not to say that Alenko doesn't have anything to bring to the table."

Ashley blinks, still caught in the stream of intensity and hesitating a half-step behind the conversational flow. After a moment, she lets go of her knees and her body relaxes, slumping back against the bench like she only just now realized she had been holding herself tight. "Right. Alenko." Her face cracks into an embarrassed smile, and she covers her eyes for a moment with her fingers. "Yeah, so as I was saying, far be it from me to blaspheme against the LT's tight ass--uh, sorry--but the thing is..."

"He's crew," you finish for her.

"Yes!" She throws her hands up victoriously and then claps them back down on her knees to punctuate her exclamation. "That's exactly my point. Liara, God love the little dork, might be along for the ride and all, but she isn't _crew_. No regs against fraternizing the daylights out of her, and between you and me, she could probably use a good fraternizing, or... sororitizing. Is that a word?"

"It is now." Ashley has a very good point, one you've been thinking about a lot, but why has she put so much thought into your stupid little love triangle? Are they really that hard up for entertainment down in the cargo bay, or is this just what her mind gets up to when she's servicing the munitions locker? "Seems like you feel strongly about this."

"Well, yeah. I'm surprised you don't, no offense." You raise your eyebrows at her until she elaborates. "Commander, you and I both know what it's like to have to make really shitty calls. Now, I don't know what it was like for you on Akuze, but in the 212 there was this guy who was kinda sweet on me. Guess I might have been sweet on him too, but I'm glad I never acted on it, 'cause on Eden Prime I had to make the call that got him shot through the face by the geth. Given what I knew at the time, it was the right call to make, but would I have made it if I had been shacking up with him instead of just throwing him a flirtation bone during shore leave? I dunno."

A scowl tugs at the corners of her mouth and she jerks the bottle of bourbon out of your hands, taking a long slow shot of it until she has to gasp and squeeze her eyes shut from the burn. Her eye makeup smudges a bit, a little bit of something black and blue smearing on her lower lashes. Your fingers want to reach out and wipe it off, but you curl them into fists instead.

When she opens her eyes, her face is red from the alcohol sting, but her eyes are clear. Williams might go a little hard, but she's not going to cry. Not in front of you, anyway. "I didn't know I was sending Donkey to his death, that was just a crap shoot. But sometimes you do know. Sometimes you gotta tell somebody to hold the line until everyone else is gone, and when you do, do you think that person is gonna be someone you're sleeping with? I hope I never have to decide who lives and who dies. But if I have to, my decision can't be muddled up by magic-sparkly-hearts-and-stars feelings."

You hesitate before saying anything, getting the feeling that this might be about a little more than just your pathetic love life. "You're a hell of a soldier, Ashley. You did everything you could have done, and I don't need to have been there to know that."

"Yeah. Fat lot of good that'll do for Donkey and Pennyloafer, huh." She chuckles without any humor and leans to the side, propping her chin in her hand. The sunset is almost gone, only a dark purple reflection off of Ashley's eyes and cheekbones. The reservoir is black, but you can still hear it lapping in the night's quiet stillness, just under the sound of your own breathing and Ashley tapping her nails against the neck of the whiskey bottle. "Probably shouldn't flog myself too hard about it, though. I had to survive Eden Prime, because God wanted me here in your crew. I don't know why yet, but I'm sure of it."

"Why do you think God had anything to do with it?" you ask slowly, not sure you want to chase this conversational thread.

"Too much of a coincidence otherwise. I was, uh, thinking about you. Right around the time I realized that I was really and truly on my own, no do-overs. I couldn't remember your name, but I remembered your face from the news, when they dragged you out of there? Never seen someone punch out a reporter while hooked up to an EKG before, so I guess you stuck with me." She reaches up and wipes under her eye, smearing her makeup even more. "I was just thinking... If she can survive a thresher maw, surely I can outwit a few geth in a gunfight. It became something to hold onto."

"You were thinking of _me_?"

"And then all of a sudden there you were, the sun at your back, running triumphantly down the hillside with guns blazing, ready to save my tired ass. I swear you even had a noble steed and a fucking halo, but maybe that was just an adrenaline hallucination." She puts the bottle on the ground and lets her hands fall to the seat of the bench on either side of her hips, fanning out her fingers until they're centimeters away from your own.

You nod slowly, keeping your hands as still as you can. "Definitely a hallucination. My memory of it is radically different. No kakliosaurs in the Alliance navy, for one thing. And I'm pretty sure your guns were the ones blazing, not mine." It would be a lot easier if you could just ignore what you think she's trying to say here, but you can't do that, not if you're her Commander. "Ashley, I'm--"

"Sometimes I feel like I've been yanked away from my life by some beefed-up war goddess, like a Reaper-hungry Amazon or a space age Joan of Arc or something, and now I'm just windmilling until I catch my feet. It's hard to get your bearings when you're flailing around in Commander Shepard's jetstream, you know? I'm--" Her voice cracks again, and she sighs and looks up at the black sky. The only light now comes from the thin LED tracks outlining the walkways and a few windows, and that's good. This feels like something Ashley can probably only say in the dark. "I'm pretty sure I was supposed to die with the rest of my crew on Eden Prime. So either God has something he still needs me to do with you, or you're interfering with the Big Guy's plans by keeping me alive. I hope it's the first one, because I've seen all sixty Final Destination vids. That kind of meddling never ends well."

At this, you finally let your hands move, creeping over to cover her fingers with your palm. Her hand is pleasantly warm and dry, so you lace your fingers between hers. "Ash. How deep does this go? I don't need martyrs on my team, okay?"

"It's not like that, Commander, Jesus," she spits out, but she doesn't move her hand away from yours. "I don't have a death wish. Kind of the complete opposite, actually. I want to bust heads." She squeezes your knuckles. "I want to fight for you, because you're the first commanding officer I ever had who made me feel worthy. I feel _good enough_ , and I don't expect you to know how radical that is for a Williams, but it is. It's a big effing deal."

"Good. Remember that, when we finally catch up with Saren. This is the kind of mission that gets family histories exonerated, if you crack the right skulls and play the right cards with the press afterward. That's never been my strong point, but Anderson's pretty good at it. You don't get as far as he has without a bit of spin."

Ashley laughs and lets go of your hand, stretching both of her arms over her head. "It's always about the mission with you, isn't it. Aren't you drunk yet? I'm... getting there, yeah. Wow." She shakes her head slowly and smiles, looking at you through the corner of her eye. "I think I was half a step from smooching you for a second or two there, which means I've had enough. I should go."

"Conversation getting too soft for you, chief?"

"More like this bench is too hard for what I-- whoa. No, shh, stop talking." She stands up, supporting herself by holding the back of the bench. Her knees pop when she gets all the way up, but she doesn't sway or stumble. "Okay, yeah, I'm going. To bed. By myself."

"I didn't realize that was under question." You smile to yourself and grab the bottle from the ground, bringing it back up to your lap. The two of you have killed about half of it, which is probably a good place to stop for the night.

"It wasn't." She looks down at your lips, then back up at your eyes. "Goodnight, _Commander_. I know it's none of my business, but think about what I said."

"You've given me a lot to think about," you say to her backside as she weaves her way through the shrubbery and back to the walkway, leaving you alone once again with nothing but your bottle and the gentle lapping of the reservoir. You should probably go to bed too, but the weight of the conversation you've just had needs time to settle in your joints and limbs, which are still buzzing numb from the whiskey. Walking down to your room seems like an insurmountable task at the moment, so you stay anchored to the bench and close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of the water in the dark.

Minutes bleed together as you sit, pretending to meditate on the conversation when really all you're doing is picturing the pink light reflected on Ashley's face as she politely accused you of interspecies promiscuity. The surge of confused affection that you feel makes you laugh to yourself in the still night air, but you immediately feel guilty about it when you hear the laugh's ringing echo, given the solemn nature of the second half of your conversation.

None of you can know what will happen on the last leg of this mission, but one thing is for certain. When you get back from Virmire, you are taking Ashley Williams out for proper drinks, preferably on a real planet with a real sun, so you can see it shine red in her hair as it sets over the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> I lifted a few lines of dialogue from Ashley's canon romance with Male Shepard. They're pretty easy to spot.
> 
> Donkey and Pennyloafer are from Mass Effect: Foundation.


End file.
